


rest your head, hold my hand

by whosbrian



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Comfort, Family Issues, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whosbrian/pseuds/whosbrian
Summary: Minho absolutely hates routine.But for the guy with a heart-shaped smile he sees on the bus everyday, he can make an exception.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 28
Kudos: 139
Collections: MINSUNG FICATHON: Round One; 2020





	rest your head, hold my hand

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> this was written for [minsung ficathon](https://twitter.com/minsungficathon), for prompt #098: Minho and Jisung are strangers who take the same bus to school/work, and one day Jisung falls asleep and ends up nodding off against Minho's shoulder.
> 
> the title is loosely inspired by the lyrics "I hope I can be a little helpful at least/I hope I can be your resting place" from [when you love someone](https://open.spotify.com/track/66kaQ6mH75Gt2KQjVnNmR2?si=eb9056a647614a31) by day6!
> 
> i hope you enjoy <3

Minho doesn’t like routine. Actually, he hates it.

The idea of repeating the same thing over and over again every single day of his life is something he despises. In every way he can, he avoids it; he never wears the same outfit twice in the same month, never orders from the same restaurant whenever he doesn’t have the motivation to cook for himself, constantly changes the playlists he listens to, studies on every surface available in his apartment, never goes to the same date spot when he meets someone. That last one hasn’t happened in a while, but the point still stands. His best friend Seungmin argues that the way he dances to the exact same moves when he practices choreographies goes against his life rule, but it doesn’t count. Dancing is equivalent to breathing for him, a necessary part of himself that doesn’t apply to any rule, ever. Besides, he only repeats the movements in order to make them as perfect as possible. It’s a conscious choice, not a dreadful result of society’s crushing pressure on young adults to conform to the masses and make no wave. 

No, the only true routine Minho follows is the one that takes place every morning and evening on the bus on the way and back from university.

Every single day of the week, he sits on the furthest bench from the entrance of the vehicle and plugs in his earphones to blast whatever kind of music he has chosen for the day. Four stops later, a guy around his age with kind eyes and a heart-shaped smile enters the bus, walks to the end of the rows and sits right beside Minho. They share a smile, then the guy plays games on his phone until he has to get off the bus. When he leaves, he sends Minho a wave that he gives right back. And that’s it.

His interactions with the stranger on the bus are the only constant in Minho’s life (ok, fine, plus his cats. And Seungmin, he guesses. He’s been stuck with him forever). It’s been going on ever since Minho moved to the city for university a little over a year ago. They’ve never exchanged a single word, their biggest conversations consisting of thumbs ups if the other didn’t show up the day before to signify they were doing ok, so he has no clue what the guy’s voice sounds like. Still, Minho likes it. He finds comfort in seeing the guy’s smile every morning before class. He can’t really explain it, but the stranger has an aura to him, the kind that brings sunshine to people’s days without even trying. 

So, yeah, the eternal routine hater Lee Minho likes the routine he developed with Bus Guy. Sue him.

For someone who loves variety and change so much, it’s surprising that he feels like his world has turned upside down when his routine with his bus partner does change from the ordinary. 

It’s a random Thursday morning. The city sky is covered by dark clouds, announcing a storm later that afternoon. The bus is surprisingly on time when Minho climbs into it on his way to his 9AM history of arts lecture. He presses play on his playlist of the day; it’s Seungmin’s Day6 playlist, one he comes back to a little more often than he does with others (though you’ll never hear him admit that to anyone, _especially_ not Seungmin). He lets the music fill his mind for the next four stops. 

As always, the bus stranger climbs on, but he looks different than usual. There are dark circles under his eyes, his hair is unkempt, not even covered by his classic red beanie, and his jacket is buttoned a hole too high, making it crooked. Minho sends him a concerned look with the rise of an eyebrow, but the guy only waves him off as he comes to sit beside him. 

Minho chews on his bottom lip; he’s seen the guy tired before, but this is a new low, and he can’t help but worry. Should he ask if he’s ok? It would be weird for him to start talking out of the blue though, no? He sends the guy concerned glances every now and then, debating with himself until he has to get off the bus. It’s too late for anything now. He sighs and gets off with a wave to his bus partner, who returns it with less enthusiasm than the day before. Minho settles for sending the guy telepathic mental support throughout the day and hopes it helps somehow.

Minho doesn’t listen much in class that day. His thoughts keep wandering to the bus guy. How is he doing? Is he going through his classes ok? What happened for him to be so exhausted? He looked a little sad, too. Did he have a fight with someone? With a friend? A significant other? Minho thinks with a small frown. Huh. Why does it upset him to think about the bus guy having a significant other? That’s weird. But then, Minho worrying for people other than his cats is already weird enough. Seungmin could count on one hand the number of times Minho has openly shown concern towards his person, and one of those times involves Seungmin landing in the hospital with a broken arm, which was _definitely_ not Minho’s fault for pushing him too hard on the swings and sending him flying off in the grass when they were six years old.

To his own surprise, Minho finds himself eager to see the bus guy again that evening. He waits for him to get on with a nervous tremor in his leg. He lets out a small sigh of relief as he sees him climb into the bus at 5:24PM, like every other day, and sends Minho his signature heart-shaped smile, though it isn’t as wide as most days. It still calms Minho’s bouncy leg enough for him to plug his earphones back in and softly bop his head to the music.

They’re about halfway through their drive back home when it happens. _Zombie_ is just starting to play in Minho’s ears when he feels a small weight settle on his right shoulder. On instinct, he leans into it, resting his own head over it and closes his eyes, ready to doze off until his own stop. Then the first chorus hits his eardrums, the weight on his shoulder nuzzles into his shirt and-

Wait.

Minho lifts his head to see his bus partner, fast asleep, mouth hanging open and cheeks cutely puffed, with his head comfortably nestled on Minho’s shoulder.

Hum.

Minho freezes, mind going completely blank. He doesn’t know what to do.

His first thought is to push him off, because he’s not really fond of physical contact, but the guy’s face is so peaceful in his slumber, the most relaxed Minho’s seen him all day, that he finds himself gnawing at his bottom lip, stuck at a crossroad. The stranger will surely be as embarrassed as Minho when he wakes up from his impromptu nap, yet Minho can’t bring himself to push him away. 

_Zombie_ finishes by the time Minho stops hesitating and just decides to let the guy sleep until he has to get off the bus. A nap can’t hurt.

Time seems to pass at a sluggish pace. Minho has to focus on his breathing to make sure he doesn’t startle at every little shift of the stranger’s head as he sleeps, scared that he’s already waking up and that the uncomfortable moment of realization is about to hit them both. He has no reason to worry: the guy is out like a log, even mumbling gibberish into Minho’s shoulder. Through his stress, it still makes Minho a little warm inside. He always thought that the guy was cute, but that's just plain adorable.

Five stops pass before Minho recognizes his bus partner’s neighbourhood. He’ll have to get off soon. 

Minho lets out a defeated sigh. Reluctantly, he takes one hand out of his coat pockets to prod at the guy’s arm, gently at first, but with more force when he doesn’t seem to be waking anytime soon. It takes a full thirty seconds for the guy to jolt awake, his head almost colliding with Minho’s chin as he lifts it from his shoulder. Their eyes meet, and blush creeps on both their cheeks when the stranger takes in what just happened. He shifts in his seat.

As Minho opens his mouth to speak - he doesn’t really know to say what, but he knows he wants to say _something_ \- the disembodied voice from the onboard speakers alerts that their next stop is the stranger’s. Minho closes his mouth. The guy stands from his seat to stand in front of the mechanical door, holding the overhead rails for support against the sway of the vehicule, keeping his eyes on the streets outside with his cheeks still flaming red. For a second, Minho is scared that the guy will leave without his usual goodbye, that whatever just happened ruined their little routine. He sighs in relief when the stranger turns to send him a small wave, though his face hasn’t gotten rid of its embarrassed flush. Minho gives a wave back and slumps back in his seat when the guy jumps down onto the sidewalk.

  
  


∞

  
  


The next morning, Minho is way less anxious than he thought he would be. Despite the shared embarrassment the bus stranger’s nap had brought them, they still exchanged their usual wave before he left, so Minho is pretty confident that everything will go back to normal between them. At least, he really hopes so.

The rain that promised to fall the day before is finally there, pouring onto the streets and thoroughly soaking Minho’s shoes in his short walk from his flat to the bus stop. Only in this type of weather does he regret never getting his driver's license. Wet socks are _not_ cool.

The leather is sticky against his butt when he sits down, but it’s still better than waiting in the rain. He’s still mentally cursing the city for not investing in better rain shelters, his daily playlist long forgotten, when his bus partner enters the vehicle, also soaked through, his backpack tucked into his coat in an attempt to keep it dry. It makes him look small and vulnerable, a look that Minho isn’t used to seeing on him. It’s strange, if not a little endearing.

The guy lets himself fall in the seat beside Minho, his bag sliding to the floor from under his jacket, and breathes out a long, tired sigh, head tilted back and eyes closed. He still looks exhausted and sad, the dark circles under his eyes just as deep as yesterday.

Minho’s heart squeezes at the sight, worry settling deep in his bones. That guy is not doing well, and the contrast between his usually radiant stance and _this_ is jarring. 

The guy is back to playing a game on his phone, the little kart race one that he often plays, but he’s clearly not into it; his thumbs are slow on his screen, and he lets three karts overtake his before he starts moving again. It tips Minho over the edge. He has to do _something_. This guy is too passionate about his games to act like that unless something’s really off.

Minho takes a deep breath and nudges the stranger’s arm as he asks.

“Are you ok?”

The guy startles, looking up from his game with his mouth hanging slightly open. Minho doesn’t blame him; it’s the first time they’ve talked ever since they met.

“What?” His voice has a round edge to it, a little raspy yet delicate. _Pretty_ , Minho thinks.

“I asked you if you were ok. You looked a little… Rough, yesterday.” _And you fell asleep on me on the way home_ , Minho adds, but he deems it unnecessary to mention it.

“Oh.” The guy looks back down, closing his gaming app as his eyebrows turn into a frown. “My parents are getting a divorce. They spent the evening fighting the other day, and I didn’t get any sleep.” He gives a small chuckle. “That’s why I looked so much like shit the next morning.”

Minho is surprised that he got an answer out of the man so easily. His words are raw and honest, and he feels the guy’s sadness as if it were his own, which, in a way, it is. His parents divorced many years ago, when he was a kid, but the memory of their last fight is still clear in his mind, their shouts coming through his closed bedroom door and the pillow he had pressed over his ears. “I’m really sorry,” he tells the man, reaching for his hand and giving it a small squeeze.

Hold on.

Minho’s eyes widen when he realizes his actions. The eternal skinship hater Lee Minho is holding a stranger-not-really-stranger’s hand. What the fuck.

He starts to panic when the man doesn’t react and only stares at him, thinking he most definitely made things very awkward between him and his bus partner, because who the heck holds random people’s hands when they’re sad. Yet, he can’t bring himself to draw away, because the guy’s hand is really soft and warm against his palm, and he’s not protesting, still staring at Minho with an unreadable expression. Right when Minho opens his mouth to apologize, fully ready to run and get off at the next stop, the man squeezes his hand in return, threading their fingers together where they rest on his lap. “Thanks,” he says, a small smile reaching his lips.

Minho lets out a relieved breath. “No problem. I kinda know how you feel.”

“Yeah?” the guy asks, tilting his head to the side in a way that is way too cute for Minho’s liking.

Minho gives a small nod. “My parents divorced when I was ten. I’m pretty familiar with falling asleep to angry yells and banging doors.”

The guy pouts, and Minho’s brain short circuits for half a second. “That sucks, man. Can’t imagine having to handle that as a kid.”

“It also sucks to go through that as a twenty something years old, I’m sure,” Minho reassures him, lightly bumping their shoulders together.

“I’m nineteen, actually, but you’re right. It does suck ass now.” He gives a long and dramatic sigh, even bringing a hand to his forehead, very different from the one he let out when he entered the bus. “My parents are ruining my golden age. In a few months I’ll be an adult, left to fend for myself and too sexy for my own good.”

Minho giggles, and the guy joins him, a pretty little sound that lights up his entire face and makes all the sadness disappear, both in himself and in Minho. It rings in Minho’s ears like a song, better than any melody he’s ever heard.

They share a moment of silence, small smiles on both their lips, before the stranger speaks up again.

“I’m Jisung, by the way.”

“Minho.”

Jisung’s smile grows into its signature heart shape, and Minho swears his heart skips a beat (or maybe the bus just hit a bump in the road. That would make more sense. Yeah). “Minho,” the man repeats softly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

Jisung’s eyes stay on Minho, his smile still as wide, with such intensity and unexpected fondness that it brings blush to Minho’s cheeks. He looks away, and he thinks he hears Jisung laugh under his breath. His giggle is really cute. Everything about this guy is cute. Minho is so fucked.

Their hands are still clasped together in Jisung’s lap, swaying lightly with the turns of the bus on the road. Jisung draws mindless circles on the back of Minho’s hand with his thumb, and he finds himself hypnotized by the soft, constant movement across his knuckles.

As he watches the rain run across the bus windows, he thinks about what he should ask Jisung next. In theory, they’ve known each other for over a year, but today is the first time he’s heard the boy talk or learned his name. He wants to ask so many things, wants to know so much more about the radiant boy that didn’t shy away from his touch, instead taking it gladly.

It seems he spends too long thinking, because next thing he knows he recognizes his university’s neighbourhood through the storm outside. He’ll have to leave soon. Probably for the first time in his life, Minho doesn’t want to get off the bus. He wants to stay here, with Jisung’s hand in his, the younger’s presence bringing a sense of calm to his entire being. Still, the threat of getting late on his (way too) many assignments by missing class is enough to make him pack up his things, regretfully unclasping his hand from Jisung’s. He stands from his seat and slings his bag over his shoulder, turning towards the door before going back in his tracks. He grabs the overhead rail above his and Jisung’s bench before speaking.

“You can nap on me again if you want to.”

Jisung’s eyes get almost comically wide. “Really?” he asks, his voice so full of genuine gratefulness that it surprises Minho. He didn’t think he’d want it that much, though he can’t say he’s mad about it.

Minho shrugs, feigning indifference even though his mind is currently a big mush of thoughts and feelings. “You still look pretty tired, and you seemed to have slept really well yesterday. My shoulder is free real estate.”

Minho can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips when Jisung gives a deep sigh of relief, slumping back into his seat. “Thanks so much, oh my God. I still haven’t managed to sleep much at home and I doubt I will for a while. You know how it gets.” He gives Minho an apologetic smile when he nods. “I drank like three coffees this morning though, so I’m fine for now, but I might take you up on your offer this evening.” 

“Alright then. See you later.”

They exchange a wave before Minho gets off the bus, like they’ve always done, but something in the air between them feels different this time. A softness has settled, linking the two boys together.

Jisung napping on Minho’s shoulder on the way home quickly becomes part of their routine after that. It turns out that even without a major familial conflict, the younger boy really isn’t great at sleeping. Most times, they do chat a little bit, talking about their day before Jisung falls asleep, but some days he simply sits beside Minho on their bench, threads their fingers together and rests his head on Minho’s shoulder, quickly fast asleep.

The day Minho places a kiss on Jisung's hair when the younger leans on his shoulder, it doesn’t surprise him as much as his initial affection towards Jisung. He feels the younger smile against his shirt, and he can’t help the silly, happy grin that grows on his own lips. This routine, with Jisung, it makes sense. It feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/leeminhoelic?s=09)


End file.
